


As is Tradition

by noblydonedonnanoble



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:33:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/noblydonedonnanoble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fluffy, domestic 'verse where I blatantly ignore everything that stands in the way of this relationship because fuck it man, it's Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As is Tradition

                In the Tate-Tennant household, Christmas is always a big affair.

                This can largely be attributed to Catherine’s immense passion for the season. Beginning on the first day of December, Christmas music can always be heard throughout the house. She’s got an enormous collection of CDs; were they to be played continuously from the first of December to the thirty-first, one would still not hear all of them twice. This is a fact in which Catherine takes great pride.

                Two weeks before Christmas day, they go out and buy a tree. David always sets his sights on a tree that, when brought inside, is discovered to be too close to the ceiling, and it’s been years since Catherine has been able to place the star on top.

                They decorate the tree together. David does battle with the knotted lights for as long as he can before Catherine, chuckling endlessly, snatches them away and unravels them in what seems like seconds.

                It can take hours for them to be satisfied with the ornaments. The tree is finally laden down, every bit of space occupied by glass; by a TARDIS that Catherine bought David as a joke, and a dalek that David bought Catherine just to see if she could name it properly on the first go; miniature birds perch on branches; Catherine hides a pickle somewhere, for David and, eventually, for their children to find on Christmas morning.

                Of course, they have the Christmas films that they must watch every year, without fail. White Christmas; A Christmas Story; Die Hard; all the classics.

                Catherine always insists on going to see the Nutcracker. It’s not because of a particular fondness for the show, but rather because of her fondness for keeping traditions. David humors her, and enjoys himself more than he’ll ever admit.

                David dresses up as Santa. He stuffs a pillow into his jacket until Catherine finally tells him that he looks to absurd and she won’t stand for it. The kids ask why Santa’s suddenly so skinny, and Catherine and David concoct an elaborate story about Santa’s miracle diet.

                Eventually come the winter recitals—they’ve got a singer and a violinist, and David and Catherine are always in the front row, cheering through choral and orchestral performances that become less atonal and increasingly harmonious as the years go on.

                They attend the Christmas pageant, of course. Their second child comes in November, and after a request from the church—and much begging and pleading from David because he’s _always_ thought it would be fun to play Joseph, always _always_ and what if they stop at two and he doesn’t get another chance—David and Catherine stand in as pantomime Mary and Joseph with little baby Jesus at the Christmas Eve service.

                Finally, Christmas morning always comes.

                David wakes up early, long before the sun comes up, and fills the stockings that hang ready and waiting on the fireplace. He cooks breakfast, eggs or pancakes or oatmeal. He brings Catherine’s helping in to her on a tray, nudges her awake and presents it to her with a charming smile that halts any of her complaints about the early hour.

                The children can’t be bothered with breakfast, not with so many perfectly wrapped presents waiting to be opened. So they crowd around the tree, passing presents out until each member of the family has their own pile of gifts.

                Gifts are opened in a flurry, wrapping paper being discarded all across the floor and shrieks of delight filling the room as desired games, toys, books, films are received.

                Christmas afternoon is lazy. Children too involved with their new swag to think of their dear old mum and dad, who retreat to their room for much needed respite.

                They share Christmas dinner with Catherine’s mother and whichever of their siblings might have come in that year. It’s always a hassle, with one of the dishes never working out quite as intended.

                When they drop into bed Christmas night, exhausted and eager for sleep, David pulls her in tight, gives her a kiss and, as has become tradition—and he must continue the tradition—he whispers, “I’m so glad I caught my runaway bride.”

                She laughs and shushes him, but the joke never gets old.

 


End file.
